There’s celebration at the door,
Cakes are being cut,
The sweets are ready,
And out to be served.

The daughter sits,
Still by the window sill,
Looking at the clouds floating,
But ignoring all the chaos and crying.

She recalls all those days,
But none come to her aid,
She only remembers,
Some books piled up,
And pens, papers just decked up.

All the tension,
All the fury,
All the stress,
And all the pressure,
We’re the remains of her childhood.

For she could never forget,
The answers which cost her,
An earful.

An earful of praise,
An earful of taunts,
An earful of complaints,
And securing her future ahead.

That future never came though,
For her present was in shambles,
She could only try for courage,
But none for freedom and boredom.

She was always ready,
To take a flight,
And race ahead of all.

She was always ready,
To be the best,
And beat ’em all.

It wasn’t long,
Till she realised,
How she had lost herself,
To become someone,
She didn’t know at all.

It wasn’t long,
Till she realised,
That she did not want the trophies,
She did not want the flights.

She did not want,
The competition,
To ruin her life.

But why would she stand up,
Against everything,
So wonderful in her life,
After all,
She managed to achieve,
The society’s eyes.

Which had cost her,
Only her childhood,
Which had cost her,
Only an unworthy past?